


No Contest

by Yve



Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), Rune Factory 4
Genre: Banter, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Rated T for vague hints of horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yve/pseuds/Yve
Summary: Bado receives an unusual request that will make this year’s crafting festival a little more interesting for the man who always throws the contest he would be most likely to win if he really tried. He certainly wouldn’t complain about being hired to spend time with his crush, but something about this situation doesn’t add up...
Relationships: Bado/Frey (Rune Factory)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	No Contest

Bado drummed his fingers on the worn-smooth surface of his workbench, his bearded chin resting disconsolately in the other big, angular hand. 

“—Better make a credible effort this time!” Forte berated him, gauntleted fists propped on her hips. “Honestly! You’re the best craftsman in this whole town and everyone knows it but every year you half-ass this festival instead of using it to promote your work.” 

“If everyone knows it...” He asked in a low, droning monotone, “Why do I need to prove it?” He flicked his metallic-blue-gray irises toward her cobalt blue ones and quirked one dark eyebrow. Forte’s eyes narrowed, her lip lifting ever so slightly—the phantom of a snarl. 

“Would it  _ kill _ you to put in a little effort this time?” He blinked, gaze shifting out of focus into the middle distance again. 

“It might... you want me t’be the first man to literally die of boredom, Forte?” 

“RAUGH!” Forte’s hands flew up in a flash, fingers curled into an impotent grip on the air between them as if she wanted nothing more than to wrap those armored hands around his throat. The corner of the big dwarven man’s mouth twitched. He didn’t  _ quite _ let himself smirk at her. Provoking his foster daughter was more of a spice than a dish. One should only partake in moderation... 

Forte, meanwhile, had mustered up enough self control to reign in her frustration and held her arms stiff as iron rods at her sides now, gauntlets creaking as her fists clenched tightly. 

“I would be most gratified...” She seethed, “If you would put your substantial skills to use and  _ not _ embarrass me for  _ once _ in my life.” He opened his mouth to return another evasion but her hand shot up again, this time in an open palmed gesture giving a distinct ‘shut the hell up’ kind of vibe. “Just—“ She grated through clenched teeth, “Consider it. Please.” And with that she turned on her heel and left the little shop with a hurried jingle of the door’s bell. 

The blacksmith chewed his lip for a beat, then stood up to his full and considerable height, a sigh escaping from his broad chest. 

“Gods-damned festival.” He mumbled, gruff and irritated. Every year the same. A stupid  _ contest _ of craftsmanship in the center of town where he could demonstrate his skill and flatten the competition with ease, huh? Forte considered his deliberately,  _ obviously _ feigned performance in the event a personal affront and embarrassment to their family, but where was the fun in crushing this contest? The master blacksmith boasting his years-earned proficiency in his trade over a bunch of amateurs just trying to have a good time? His nose wrinkled as a disgusted look came over his lined face. There was no pride in stomping on someone under your weight class, no matter what Forte thought. And, doing a bunch of work just for that? What a miserable way to spend his time. 

“Tch—“ He hooked his thumbs into his belt and stalked toward the door. Forte was just going to have to be disappointed in him yet again tomorrow. For now, a walk outside and maybe a nap in some out of the way place where his foster daughter wouldn’t find him sounded like just the thing. He reached out a hand for the heavy iron handle of the shop’s mahogany door, but tensed in an instant as the door swung open toward him. In a moment of pure reflex he caught the door on one wide, flat palm, stopping it short from slamming into his face.

“Hey Ba—OOF” A woman’s voice sounded as someone collided with the other side of the door, her weight nudging the thing against his open hand in a sudden motion. Bado winced, and pulled the door open to see who he’d just—the big man’s eyes widened for an instant, his mouth tightening as he recognized a head of silky, mint-green hair tied up in two banner-like tails.  _ Her _ ...

“Oww” The acting princess of Selphia rubbed at her forehead where she’d flattened herself against the solid wood of the door. “What the heck?” She grumbled. He winced. 

“Uh... sorry, Frey.” He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as his ears burned pink with embarrassment. “Bad timing.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him with those huge, emerald green irises. 

“Oh!” Her voice sounded like the chirp of a bird. But far from scowling at him for the collision, her features bloomed into a bright smile. He blinked, pointed ears growing yet warmer. “Hi! You’re just the guy I’m looking for!” 

_ ‘Oh gods damn it all...’ _ He thought, carefully holding his face in a mildly interested look. Why did she have to say it like  _ that _ ? The beautiful little princess with her voice like bottled sunlight... if only it were true in the broader sense; if  _ he _ were the man she sought for her own... No. Can’t think like that: some wistful, stupid teenager in love? He was in the middle of his thirties! Certainly old enough not to pine for a twenty-something, sweet... gorgeous... His thoughts unravelled as he stared at her. She was saying something but he’d missed her words in his reverie. 

“—was thinking who better than you for this?” She finished, beaming up at him, apparently waiting for an answer. He blinked, flushing red across his angular features. 

“Uh... what?” 

Stupid. The hell was he doing? Frey’s expression shifted into a confused, slightly suspicious stare. 

“You sure you’re awake, big guy?” She asked, a smirk beginning to curl the corner of her mouth... that soft, pink mouth—

“ _ Get your shit together you big idiot!” _ He scolded himself. No way in hell he was going to let this particular woman see just how he went to pieces inside over her. He shook his head.

“Yeah, sorry. Spaced out for a bit. Wha’d ya need, Frey?” He hunched his shoulders a little in an apologetic gesture. The diminutive woman merely smirked again and strode past him into the shop. His gaze followed her and he turned slowly as she proceeded toward the workbench. He definitely did  _ not _ watch the slight swish of her hips and the movement of her plump little butt as she walked away from him. No, sir... not him. He was  _ not _ hopelessly infatuated with a princess. That would be... stupid. 

“I want you...” Frey began with a deliberate pause, mischief in her eyes. Oh gods why did she have to torture him like this? “To help me win the contest tomorrow.” She finished, excitement written all across the wicked grin on her pink lips. 

Bado blinked, thoughts stopping short. His brow bent low over his blue-gray eyes and his mouth fell open slightly. 

“Wha?” 

Yep, he was a regular intellectual in this conversation. Jeez. 

“You were going to throw it anyway, right?” Frey asked smoothly. He blushed, looking away and fidgeting with one of his belts. 

“I, uh...” He fumbled. Wait... she wasn’t scolding him... He looked back to her face and tilted his head. “How’d you know?” The princess rolled her eyes with an impatient gesture. 

“Come on, Bado. You don’t fool anyone.” She chided. “But if you aren’t going to try and win, why not help  _ me _ ?” She grinned wickedly again. 

The big man stared at her, still trying in vain to process this whole situation. Then a wily little smirk of his own began to pull on his mouth at the corners. 

“Ain’t that kinda... cheatin’, princess?” She waved a hand airily.

“Not as long as  _ I _ am the one actually making the thing. But there’s no rule against getting advice. Most of us will be following a recipe of some kind anyway. What’s it matter if the recipe  _ I’m _ planning to follow comes from you?” She stared at him, waiting. The big man folded his burly arms across his chest and tugged on the point of his dark beard. 

“Alright I follow ya so far...” He said slowly, “But what’s in it for me?” Her grin widened. With a deft little motion she drew a leather pouch from her belt and flung it casually on the worn wooden surface of his worktable. The gold inside clinked musically. His eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead. 

“An’ how is this not cheatin’ again?” 

“Hiring a tutor? What’s wrong with that?” She asked, innocently batting her eyelashes. He let out a laugh at her play. It felt good. It always felt good... these dumb little bantering sessions with her. He grinned wolfishely. Paid?  _ Paid  _ to hang out all day with his crush? Yes, ma’am! 

“Deal.” He put out a huge, square-ish hand and she took it in her small, slender fingers. He blinked down at that pale, dainty hand, It fit in his  _ palm _ for crying out loud. Then again, Frey herself only came up to his chest. But... given his erm...  _ unusual _ size it wasn’t exactly any fault of  _ hers _ . No fault at all... He readied a deflection before his imagination could construct an image of lifting her up into his arms, his big hands around that slender waist... 

“North Winds, woman! How ya expect ta forge anythin’ with these itty bitty mits?” He asked incredulously, holding up her tiny hand. Without missing a beat, she wrapped that hand around his thumb, turned it around toward him and returned: 

“How do  _ you _ craft anything delicate with these oversized paws?” He laughed again, the boom of it filling up the shop. 

“Fair play.” He grinned. “So, What did ya wanna make, anyway?” She shrugged, her bare shoulders peeking out of her summery little dress, and donned a thoughtful expression. 

“Haven’t given it a whole lot of thought, but I guess the better question is what can we make in a day?” Then, that mischievous sparkle returning to her eyes, she added: “No big swords though. Waaaay too many innuendos would come of it.” 

“Beg pardon, princess,” He shot back, “I’m a  _ gentleman _ , ‘case ya hadn’t noticed!” He made a haughty gesture raising a hand to his chest, “I’d never imply  _ anything _ about how big ya like your swords.” Frey burst into laughter and his heart leapt right into his mouth. The giddy feeling choked any further words from him for a long moment as he let that laugh ring in his pointed ears. 

“See?” She accused, “This is why we can’t make one! We’ll never get it done in time if we’re too busy cracking jokes.” 

“Alright, alright.” He chuckled, “So what should we make instead? Spear? How long—” She snorted and swatted his arm, to which he merely grinned again.

“How about a shield? Doubt you can make any off-color jokes about that.” 

“Is that a challe—“

“NO! BAD!” She jabbed at him with a finger, but her eyes were still laughing at their corners. 

“Kidding! Only kidding.” He held his hands up disarmingly. 

“You’re  _ always _ kidding.” She smirked. He shrugged as if to say he would not bother to deny it. 

“So, a shield...” He began, “for you or a normal-sized person?” She scoffed. 

“He says as if he is not the most overgrown fool in this town.” She muttered, loud enough that it couldn’t be mistaken as being said for her own benefit. He chuckled, the giddy feeling still ringing inside him. 

“You wan’ it for blockin’ physical or magical damage?” 

“How about both? That’d be impressive, right?” 

“Impressive, sure... but  _ Expensive _ . I ain’t got the materials on hand to make somethin’ so fancy.”

“Why not?” 

“Most folks wouldn’t need it, for one thing. No sense puttin’ all that time into a thing no-one’s gonna shell-out for.” He shrugged. 

“Fair. But, what do we need, anyway? I bet you I’ve got the materials back at the castle.” 

“Lessee...” He mused, “Platinum shield would be good. Not  _ too _ exotic to be doable in a day, but still impressive. Don’t suppose you’ve got a couple ingots worth of the stuff just layin’ around do ya?” He gave a half-grin as he spoke, sure she’d have to admit she had no such stash of the rare and expensive metal immediately to hand. 

“Yeah. Got plenty.” She nodded, “What else do we need?” He blinked at her, furrowing his brow. 

“Uhh... black tortoise shell?” He said, still trying to process the revelation. She nodded, smiling triumphantly. He shook his head. “ _ Damn _ , woman! Bring me with ya next time you go treasure huntin’ if yer pullin’ in a haul like  _ that _ .”

“You sure you wanna come? Mining the stuff is  _ work _ , after all.” She smirked at him. A smile slowly grew across his mouth as he watched her glinting green eyes while she teased him. It was too soon to tell if her words amounted to a genuine invitation, but the possibility of further excuses to spend whole afternoons with her... well, it was worth a little fishing.

“Well, true... but with a little troublemaker like you around I think it’d be more fun than regular work.” He said carefully. Her smirk tugged further on one side of her mouth. 

“Sure, then. I’ll come get you before I go next time.” She said, her voice a little gentler than her teasing tone from before. He reigned in the jolt of excitement so it wouldn’t show on his face, and nodded his thanks. 

“Appreciate it.” He said, looking her over in an appraising manner. They stared at one another for a long moment, the silence growing heavy like a cloud plump with rain. “A-anyway...” He said, glancing away and clearing his throat. “Once ya bring those things over we can start on your shield.” 

“Right.” She agreed, standing up from where she’d been leaning on the workbench and dusting off her dress. “Back in a jiffy!” A flash of blue-ish light filled the room for an instant, and she was gone. Bado looked about the room on sheer reflex, despite the knowledge she’d just transported herself back to her home by magic. He’d never really gotten used to that whole thing, given that he himself was basically hopeless at magic of all kinds. Thankfully, he could still make equipment that responded to or channeled magical energies, but the actual use of the arcane arts had always been outside his own skillset. 

He moved into the workshop and readied his tools, loading fuel and blowing air onto the forge fire with a bellows. Then he collected the coin pouch Frey had flung onto the countertop and dumped its contents into his palms. His dark eyebrows attempted to climb into his hairline. No mean sum. This was about as much as his shop was likely to bring in on a good day. She was providing the materials, and she was the one intending to actually make the thing, so this was essentially just money for his time and advice. Apparently she thought pretty well of his time and advice. That, or she just had more than she knew what to do with. He counted the gold and sorted it into the cash register. Then, full of a fidgeting sort of anticipation for her return, he found himself tidying up the shop. 

He didn’t have long to wait, which was just as well since the shop wasn’t exactly untidy in any case. Perhaps fifteen minutes later the door’s bell chimed and he looked up to see that bright, green-haired young woman prancing into his shop once again. 

“Got the supplies!” She called, hefting a large, leather shoulder bag onto the workbench. He examined the materials with quick, professional movements, and declared himself satisfied with the raw materials. 

“So, then. What’s your proficiency with forging anyway?” He asked. She shrugged, beaming at him. 

“I know my way around the basics.” She said without elaboration. He bent an eyebrow at her but she merely smiled sweetly.

“Riiight... so I guess I’ll just tell ya what the steps are and how t’do em... and if it’s somethin’ you already know, just... stop me or whatever.” 

“Sounds good.” She chirped. He shifted in place, feeling awkward. 

“Right, then. First we need to smooth out the tortoise shell and heat the metal ya brought...” He directed her in the use of the forge, careful to explain safety protocol before any given step. Whether she knew it or not it never hurt to reinforce good habits around the forge. For her part Frey dutifully performed all the tasks he described, asking questions, prompting him to demonstrate some techniques, and generally performing as an absolutely ideal pupil. Despite her many inquiries, however, she never seemed to struggle much in executing whatever part he directed her in. Either she was naturally prodigious, or she knew a little more than the ‘basics’ she’d claimed. 

The shield itself was turning out rather well, almost as well and as if he himself had crafted it, despite it taking two or three times longer that he would have. About once every hour or so they took a break from the physically intensive process to have a drink or sit for a spell—breaks were an important part of work, after all—and even shared a simple supper of salmon onigiri he made while she’d been busy with a particularly tedious part of the crafting process. 

“These are... a bit bigger than when I make them.” She’d observed with a smirk. He held up a big, wide palm before her by way of explanation and waited wordlessly as he chewed a mouthful. Her gaze flicked from his hand to his eyes and back again, but she raised her own slender hand and pressed it to his, spreading her dainty fingers out to align with his thick ones. That little hand once again highlighted the marked difference in their stature; what an odd picture they made, side by side. The touch of her skin was cool against his work-roughened hand, bare for the sake of preparing the food they now enjoyed. A silent shiver ran through him and his pointed ears warmed and twitched. He swallowed, eyed her and allowed a little flicker of a smile to accompany his gaze. 

“Comes with the territory, I guess.” He said quietly. She gave a soft little laugh and withdrew her hand slowly, her fingers trailing over his palm. Was that deliberate? He swallowed against a knot rising in his throat. 

“Thanks for dinner.” She hummed, and returned to daintily munching on her own rice ball. 

“Sure thing.” He answered, trying in vain to focus on anything else lest he catch himself staring. 

They finished the meal in companionable silence and returned to work on the shield. Hours later and well past closing hours they were still at it. Granted, a large portion of the delay was owed to a repeated regression into distracted conversation, mutual teasing, and other amicable little interactions between them. He was flirting. He knew he was. He knew he oughtn’t to do it. But, being with her, smaller, younger, and fairer than him though she may be, felt too... right. Their mannerisms and playfulness fit together like pieces of a puzzle, perfectly balanced, perfectly attuned to one another. And hell, she’d come to him on this day, after all. Still, after sundown his conscience began to gnaw at him for keeping her all to himself so long, and finally he pressed the completion of their task forward in the interest of giving her an opening to leave as soon as she wished. They wrapped up the remaining steps and at the last he helped with the near-final step of clamping some of the parts together to ensure they didn’t warp overnight as the materials cooled completely and the glue dried. 

“You can leave it here tonight. I’ll check on it in the morning and take the clamps off.” He said, looking her over. The work gloves she wore looked comically large and she had smudges of soot and dirt mixed with sweat here and there on her face and arms. He shook himself out of yet another stare-in-the-making before he could imagine her bathing away the grime of their labors today. 

“ _ You gotta get your head out of the clouds, big guy.”  _ He chided himself. “ _ This doesn’t mean anything. She just hired you to help out. That’s all _ .” 

“Thanks, Bado.” She sighed, tugging off the gloves and wiping her brow. “Think it’s enough to win it?” 

“Hard to say for sure.” He replied, grabbing a broom to sweep up the shavings and other small debris on the floor of the workshop. “How confident are ya in yer exhibition skills?” 

“Confident enough.” She answered cryptically, tucking her gloves into a pocket on her toolbelt. 

“Then I’d say you stand a good chance of victory.” He said as he finished sweeping. “I on the other hand...” He made a show of plucking up a piece of his own merchandise—a simple short sword with no embellishments whatsoever, “Am a shoe-in for last place.” He winked at her. She smirked, then eyed him with a contemplative air as she sat down on one of his plain wooden chairs. 

“Why  _ do _ you always throw this contest, anyway? Is it worth getting Forte so mad at you every time?” He sighed, and wiped at his own brow as he put together his answer.

“I don’t wanna ruin anyone’s fun. Festivals are for everyone, ya know? What good is it if I come in flexing years worth of training and step on all the folks just tryin’ somethin’ out for kicks?” 

“Hm” She hummed, tilting her head. He grinned on a sudden inspiration to roast himself for her entertainment. 

“And can you imagine if I  _ lost _ , having given it my all? Talk about embarrassing. I’d have to hang up my hammer in shame.” He chucked, tugging on the point of his short, dark beard as he spoke. 

“Fair.” She agreed simply. “And Forte?” He sighed by way of reply. 

“Well, she’s gonna be bent at me about somethin’ no matter what I do, so I might as well know ahead of time what it is she’s pissed at me for, right?” She laughed. 

“I suppose so. But... I hope she won’t be too ‘bent’ at you because of me.” She offered, donning a shyer attitude. He smiled at her. 

“Worth it.” They traded grins. Then she stood up from her chair and glanced at the shield on the table. 

“Thanks for everything today. I really appreciate it.” 

“Your dime.” He shrugged. She shook her head again. 

“I  _ mean  _ it, ya goof. I had fun.” Her tone softened at this last. Gods, what was a guy to do, with lines like that?

“Well, me too. Thanks, Frey.” He admitted finally, shifting his weight from one foot to another nervously. She stared at him, something hesitant in her posture, almost leaning toward him as if she’d fall into his arms if he offered them. Then, seeming to reconcile something behind those eyes, she offered her small, white hand once more, and he took it gently in a simple exchange—a goodbye for today. 

“See you in the morning. I’ll come by to pick it up around nine.”

‘See you in the morning’... it was only a formality, sure; a closing of this deal to help her craft a winning piece, but damned if his heart didn’t flutter at the promise to come together again so soon. 

“Sure. See ya then.” He answered, squeezing the handshake gently before letting go. Her grip was firm, warm, and confident. Having to let go of that hand was the hardest part of this day, but he did so without lingering. No sense puttin’ any expectation on the woman from his side. She wouldn’t want some big oaf better than ten years older than her anyway. 

She left. No further ceremony or hesitation, and he was left sighing to himself as he finished tidying up the work area. Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Too many thoughts rolling around between his pointed ears. Too many times reliving the sound of her laughter in his memory. He woke early the next morning too, the sense of something yet unfinished tugging him out of his dreams just before dawn. Rising on bare feet he padded to the workshop in his silent home and looked over her work from the day before. 

The platinum shield had come together nicely, a pleasing, symmetrical dome of shining white metal with elegant embellishments in pale gold alloy. He released the clamps, an easy feat in his strong, practiced hands, and hefted the thing up into a shaft of early sunlight from the shop’s window. Not bad. Not bad at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if she  _ did  _ win first prize today. 

He took the liberty of polishing the surface, and mounting the thing on a leather strap for actual use. Surely he could be forgiven for doing just that much himself, right? Then, eyeing the barely-dawn sky outside he growled an impatient note, and busied himself around the shop, trying in vain to distract his mind from the anticipation. An hour later it was still too early, but as he was liable to start climbing the walls any second now, he gave in. The shield wrapped in some spare cloth and tucked under one burly arm, he left his shop and trekked across town to the palace. 

She’d have been up since dawn anyway, so he knew he wasn’t about to wake her. Still, he hoped she wouldn’t mind his impatience in bringing the product of their efforts over early. It would save her a walk to his place, after all. As he entered the castle, open to all as a public building, he looked about the tall, ornamented hallways and selected the one leading east to her quarters. Along the way, a familiar scent tugged at him and he poked his head into a room along the side of the long hallway, blinking in surprise. 

Evidently Frey had built her own workshop in the wing of the palace she lived in. He had known she must have some kind of workspace if she were dabbling in forging and crafting on her own, but now an overwhelming, strictly  _ professional _ interest pulled him into the room where the characteristic scents of metalworking had drawn him in from down the hall. He peered over her tools, her small home-made forge, and various materials bulging out of bags, bowls, boxes, and barrels all around the room. Finally, his eyes came to rest on some half-finished item resting on her worktable. This was...  _ damn _ ... his dark brows lifted as he reached out a rough hand and traced calloused fingertips over the shining, iridescent surface of a partially complete prism shield. The object hummed quietly with magical resistance, and the array of materials around it on the table all proved to be rarer and more valuable than anything a layman was ever likely to use. 

“The hell...” Bado murmured, piecing things together in his mind. She hadn’t struggled at all in making the shield yesterday... following all his instructions without any significant confusion or mistakes. And, if she was capable of constructing a prism shield... He looked down at the bundle held beneath his other arm and frowned. The item he’d helped her create was of good quality, certainly above that of an average amateur, but she was  _ far _ more likely to win recognition for the fine piece lying half-made on her workbench. He blinked. The princess of Selphia was  _ already _ nearly a master craftswoman! Yet she had spent the day—paying cold hard gold no less—making an inferior item to enter in the contest with  _ him. _ He swallowed, pulling his hand back from the prism shield’s shining surface and rubbing at his beard. 

Did he dare follow this line of logic? Dare hope the facts added up to an interest specifically in  _ him _ , and enough of one to create a contrived excuse to give them a context for time spent in each other’s company? Selphia’s dwarven blacksmith withdrew from the thought, too hopeful, too interesting to dwell on and risk disappointment. Surely he was only seeing what he wanted to see... He shook his head and left the little workshop in a hurry, searching through the rest of the east wing for the princess. He’d find her, give her the shield, and that would be that. There was absolutely no reason to believe he might expect anything more... even if... even if all that playful banter from her yesterday may have really been... been  _ flirting _ . He swallowed and shook his head again.

“Oh! I was just about to go see you.” A voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. He blinked, turning about to see Frey standing in a doorway where the hall intersected another passage. She was wearing a sweet little blue sundress and smiling up at him with a curious quirk to her brows. 

“Uh, hi. Morning, I mean.” He fumbled, blinking at her, thoughts still a giddy jumble of excitement and confusion. “I sorta woke up early, an’ well, thought I’d save ya the trip.” He held out the bundle toward her and she accepted it, unwrapping the shield and lifting it before her with the same appraising attitude he’d given the thing in his own workshop some minutes ago. 

“Turned out pretty good, wouldn’t you say?” She said proudly, showing no sign she knew very well how to make this and better equipment before she’d ever come to his shop yesterday. 

“Yeah... think so.” He mumbled, staring openly at her. 

“Say,” She added as if a thought had just occurred to her, “Regardless of what happens with the contest today, let’s grab dinner at Porcoline’s place tonight, hm? My treat, for helping me out so much with this.” She smiled expectantly at him and a hot blush rushed into his face and ears. 

That was it, then. She really  _ was _ making up reasons to be with him. He stared stupidly at her for so long her expression fell to worry. 

“Bado?” She called uncertainly, “What’s the matter?” 

“Frey...” He began, swallowing as he looked down at the diminutive woman. “You, uh... don’t have to  _ pay _ for my time, ya know? I’ll just give it to ya. No charge.” Her green eyes widened, and a rosy tinge colored her beautiful face. He felt a smile fighting to take over his expression. 

“Then, tonight?” She said, suddenly sounding uncertain, but her wide, bright eyes betrayed excitement behind too-still posture. He let the grin come, beaming down at her. 

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this story, we’re going to say Frey Frey wanted to build her own forge without hiring Bado to do it so that she would ostensibly still have an excuse to come use his workshop and sneak in a little one-on-one time with him. Heheh.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this unexpected addition to the collection of Bado/Frey stories here on Ao3. Please let me know what you thought of it in the comments and thanks again to my client who commissioned this piece!


End file.
